


The Blue of its Waters

by MelindaCoulson4



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Everything up to 8x04, F/M, Future Fic, Married Life, Swordfighting, They're on Tarth and they're having the time of their lives, a bit of smut, happiness, its foreplay, we deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelindaCoulson4/pseuds/MelindaCoulson4
Summary: The thick edge of her sword whacked against his shoulder. It would surely leave a dark bruise on his skin. A small price to pay, for if it were a true sword she would have cut through him instantly.The future that Jaime and Brienne deserve on Tarth. Ignoring everything post 8x04. Some smut





	The Blue of its Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Jaime Lannister never going to Tarth is an abomination and I will not stand for it.

  
  
Sweat rolled down his back and soaked into his shirt.   
  
His hand was beginning to ache from the force of her blows against his sword.   
  
She charged at him. He could barely dodge her attempts. And even then she was relentless in her pursuit. Every time he thought he'd gained the upper hand she'd be upon him again.   
  
His feet took him backwards, achingly slow. Rocks littered the terrain up here at the cliffs edge. One poorly placed step and his ankle would twist.   
  
The thick edge of her sword whacked against his shoulder. It would surely leave a dark bruise on his skin. A small price to pay, for if it were a true sword she would have cut through him instantly.   
  
"You mean to kill me?" he asked, stunned by the sharp ache.   
  
"If it suits me," she countered, mouth pressed into a thin line. Gone was his soft life companion and in her place was Brienne the warrior, focused and primed to win.   
  
She swung at him again. This time he dodged the blow, her blade only brushing against the front of his tunic.   
  
The brilliant light of the sun was blinding him from this angle. He had to squint to see her at all and that did not bode well for him.   
  
Even though it had been his home for over a year he never quite adapted to the heat of Tarth. There was something in the way the rays soaked through all his clothing that had his body overheating.    
  
The beating sun was beginning to affect Brienne too. Stubbornly she'd chosen to wear too many layers to protect her fair skin against the burn of the sun. It would be her only disadvantage in this fight. Her cheeks were flaming – the only sign that she was tiring too.   
  
It spurred him to make a quick strike.   
  
Their swords met with a clang. Not the familiar sweet song of steel on steel, but a blunted ring echoing around the rocks and grass.   
  
Neither retreated, instead they stayed connected as equal forces. Both of them challenging each other one handed. Her strength and skill with one hand had grown over time through their duels.   
  
They both stepped in and pushed closer together, only a few breaths away now.   
  
Calm eyes, steady as a stream trained on him as if she could push him back by sheer force of will.   
  
The familiar buzz ran through him then. He felt alive with the weapon in his hand. And spurred on with a partner at his level unlike the times he sparred with the other men on the isle.   
  
The hilt grew heavy in his hand. Grunting, he struggled to keep her weight from toppling into him. She was like a wall of solid steel.  
  
His wrist failed him and twisted. Their joined blades scraped down the length of one another. Only hers continued on a path towards his head. He ducked and aimed for her thigh before she could move to parry the blow.    
  
The metal merely swiped at her skin. She frowned slightly but stayed silent. Standing taller than before, she lunged at him.   
  
He had no choice but to retreat for he didn't want to be riddled with bruises.   
  
Her sword cut through the air over and over as his legs backpedaled. The muscle in his forearm burned from the strain to keep her cuts from his body.  
  
She continued to charge, grimacing with each swing.   
  
Further back he went. The terrain was smooth up on the cliffs. A brilliantly rich and fertile green, like a patch of paradise.   
  
But he knew what lurked below. At the edge there was an abrupt drop off. If he wasn't familiar with the area he would never know it was there.    
  
Every so often news would come to them that someone had drowned. It was mostly notorious drunkards who wandered foolishly up here in the cover of darkness only to take a deathly misstep.  
  
He continued to shoot worried glances behind him, trying to estimate how long it would be until he slipped right off the edge. It was a difficult feat with her relentless swings.   
  
She took advantage of his prolonged distraction. Her leg kicked at the sensitive flesh of his ankles, tossing him on his back instantly. The landing knocked all of the air from his lungs.  
  
"Ouch," he grunted body now unaccustomed to the strain of combat. There was a time when he'd be surprised not to find a new patch of bruises riddling his skin, but they weren't at war any longer and he'd grown somewhat soft.  
  
The hair at his forehead had fallen in his eyes. He pushed at it and swiped at the tracks of sweat heading for his eyes.   
  
As he lay on his back, she advanced, towering over him. It had been a while since they'd gotten a chance to do this. Between their daily duties and meetings, there wasn't much spare time left for them to spar. His bones and muscles were all too aware of that fact.   
  
"I'm getting far too old for this, my love," he sighed. Breathing heavily, he watched for her next move. The air was thick and much too warm entering his lungs.   
  
"Take it back," she ordered, pointing the blunted tip of her sword at him.   
  
Ah, so she was choosing this familiar song and dance: pretending to be outraged by his words of admiration.   
  
Pushing himself up onto his elbows to gauge her reaction, he smiled sweetly. "I make no declarations of love lightly. You are but an irresistible knight, my lady."  
  
Her face remained passive, unreadable.   
  
Feeling all his years piling up at once, he made a decision.   
  
"I yield." He was no fool. Soon he'd end up truly hurting himself and he preferred not to have the whole isle gossip about his old age.   
  
They'd been out for hours. Both of them now had sunburnt faces. Nothing would be more satisfying than taking a long bath with her. His body was already partially responding to that image.   
  
He ignored the sword still pointed at his face and struggled to his feet.   
  
"No," she countered, despite the sheen of sweat covering her scalp and the poorly concealed fatigue on her face.   
  
"What do you mean _no_?" His knees cracked as he bent for his discarded weapon.   
  
She could go on forever. She always did have a higher stamina than him. Most likely powered by her stubborn, foolish streak.   
  
He'd gotten over his pride early on. The golden lion days were behind him. She was a better swordsman than him, probably the best in the seven kingdoms. It was just a fact.   
  
"I said no. You may not yield. Raise your sword or I toss you into the sea." Her voice was steady, almost daring him to refuse.   
  
Glancing back, he saw the still waters bellow. The sea rocks against the cliff wall glistened in the sunlight. They both knew it was relatively shallow and relatively low risk when sober.  
  
"You've gone mad, _darling_ ," he teased, knowing exactly how she would react.   
  
"Stop it," she growled, eyes widening and warning him. If there was one thing she loathed the most it was being called darling. One night, tucked in his arms she shared that one of her father's companions would sometimes address her as such and she found it endlessly frustrating. Naturally, he brought it out to tease her.   
  
He laughed, eyes sparkling and blood flowing. It gave him great pleasure getting under her skin. It reminded him of how they used to be when they first met.   
  
Sliding forward, she eliminated the distance between them.    
  
Her sword clattered somewhere to the side of them. Her hands found his chest and her slim fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt.   
  
There was no armor between them. Just soft skin underneath cloth. All he wanted was to be in their bed so he could tear off her clothes.   
  
Finally having an excuse to do so, he flung his sword away so it could join hers on the ground.   
  
He met her stormy eyes. "Would you be so cruel as to knock a cripple into the sea to drown, my lady love?" Teasing, he leaned in and hovered close to her mouth as if to kiss her.   
  
Before she could answer, he grabbed her wrist gently and pushed the sleeve back, moving his fingers higher and higher.   
  
With an eyebrow raised, she released her hold on his shirt. Her left hand went to his jaw, trailing and scratching lightly at his beard. The other hand stayed pressed against his chest, hovering over his pounding heart.  
  
They were locked together, entranced. He watched her softening by the second.   
  
"Do you like what you see, _darling_?" He could not help himself. The words seemed to fly out of his mouth without thought.  
  
They both froze.   
  
A dangerous flicker appeared in her eyes and he knew instantly that he'd made a mistake.   
  
All it took was one well-placed shove and he was falling through the air. His body entered the sea, water surrounded him. It was warm and cooling at the same time. A laugh was already leaving his mouth as he broke for the surface.   
  
Wiping his eyes, he saw her standing tall at the cliff's edge, watching him flounder.   
  
"I will sink to the bottom with this hand of mine," he called and lifted it to show her, as if she had forgotten it was there. The sun's rays reflected off the golden surface.  
  
"I told you what would happen. You are the one that's failed to listen." There was humor in her voice.   
  
Even halfway underwater he sensed that she was fighting a smile.  
  
"I make no empty threats," she added.   
  
"This I know," he responded confidently. Brienne was always true to her word. It was one of the things he loved most about her.   
  
He ducked under again. The water washed away the remaining sweat from his skin. Coming up refreshed, he realized the only downside to being in the water was that his clothes were weighing him down. "My clothing is wet," he blabbed.   
  
"Salt water is in my ears," he continued.   
  
"The water is freezing," he lied.   
  
When she didn't respond, he looked back to the rock face. She was gone.  
  
"And now you've abandoned me," he called, scanning the surrounding area for her.   
  
He knew she wasn't actually mad. Maybe she'd decided that this would be his punishment. Leaving him to make the journey back to their chambers alone and looking like a drowned rat.   
  
"You whine far too much."   
  
His head snapped to the shore. She stood in the sand with the water lapping at her heels. Clearly she was unimpressed with his complaints.   
  
Their sparring swords were stuck halfway in the sand behind her.   
  
The heat in her cheeks was evident. An idea came to him. He would have to help her cool off. Really, he would be doing her a favor. It was his duty as her partner.   
  
With languid strokes through the water, he shortened some of the distance between them.   
  
"At least help me out," he coaxed her closer.  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped forward, humoring him. She walked into the water almost to her knee level.   
  
"Offer your hands to a man with only one if you have any honor left," he teased, fishing for sympathy. Purposefully, he stayed crouched in the surf.   
  
He could overpower her when she wasn't expecting it. Like, when on a whim, he would push her against a dark alcove and attack her mouth in the halls of their home.  
  
With a hand outstretched, she reached for him.  
  
Their fingers brushed, then their hands connected. His was larger than hers, so he easily wrapped his fingers around her wrist in a true grip and wrenched her forward.   
  
They both went under.    
  
She came up, spitting water and glaring at him. Her hair was much longer than ever before, almost brushing her shoulders. It stuck to her face comically. The water ran down her thick, wavy strands and dripped at the ends.   
  
"What will you do to me now?" He teased, body buzzing with want for her.  
  
It did not take long for her to come up with an idea. "Have you sleep in the stables," she revealed.   
  
His mouth dropped open dramatically. "You wish that upon your Lord husband?" He asked, outraged. Any night sentenced away from her would be torturous no matter where he was, but it would be worse with the great stinking beasts, the flies, and the massive piles of shit.   
  
"I have no husband. I'm but a maid," she lied and began floating away from him with a small splash to his face.   
  
A chuckled escaped him. "Do you recall a place called Winterfell?" He asked, following her retreat.   
  
"No, I have not heard of such a place." Her eyes trained on him then. They sparkled.   
  
_Beautiful_ , he thought _. My beautiful lady_.    
  
She stopped moving and waited, watching him closely.   
  
Once he reached her, he wrapped his right arm around her back. Their boots settled on the sandbar underneath the water as their legs tangled together.   
  
His mind went to their first night together. Any mention of Winterfell reminded him of their soft touches and bared flesh. The coaxed moans born of pleasure and heat. He remembered being unable to breathe as Brienne's fingers brushed against him that first time. In that moment he thought she would surely reject him and push him away, disgusted by the kingslayer.   
  
Instead she helped divest him of his tunic and the rest was an explosive fire that burned for hours between them. Never before had his heart ever been so full of acceptance and admiration. It was one of the best nights of his life.  
  
His forearm settled comfortably against the small of her back. She never shied away from his maimed arm. "Let's see. Winterfell. Winterfell. I would tell you a story about it, but I'm afraid it's just not suitable for a maiden's ears," he said, watching her lips now.   
  
Her hands were on his arms, running over his biceps. "Good. I don't wish to hear your voice anymore anyway," she softly teased.  
  
This time he could not hold back the rumbling laughter. She was his equal match in wit. She rose to the occasion each time.  
  
"Perhaps you'd rather feel my touch then." He could barely restrain himself any longer. His hand settled on her face, brushing the wet hair back behind her ear.  
  
"Perhaps I would," she whispered, leaning into him and no longer fighting a smile.   
  
Their mouths met in an explosive kiss.   
  
His eyelids fluttered closed and he let instinct take over. The arm he had around her back curled tightly around her, pulling her closer.  
  
From her cheek, his left hand trailed down and caressed the rest of her body as he went. His fingers spread lower and lower, crawling towards the hem of her tunic. It proved to be somewhat difficult as the material clung to her like a second skin.   
  
Her kiss was bruising, sending trails of lightning throughout his body. The sleeping lion roared inside of him as he met her pace.   
  
His hand found its way into her breeches. She was a hot furnace and wet for him already at her entrance. He groaned happily, then pressed two fingers gently inside her. Her inhale was sharp.   
  
Her arms went around his neck, pulling him closer. They were chest to chest, clinging to each other. He imagined a steam rising from the water around them like it had in the baths of Harrenhal.   
  
It was times like these that he desperately wished that he had his right hand. It left him frustrated in his limited ways he could touch her. That was his greatest torture. Brienne never made any complaints; in fact her response was usually just the opposite. Still, he tried to do wonders with one. Finding the most sensitive parts inside her, he curled his fingers and pushed them in harder, providing some friction.   
    
She pulled away from his mouth, chest heaving against his. "Jaime," she sighed, breathless and tilted her head, exposing her neck to him. Creamy white and practically begging for him to touch.   
  
Her eyes fluttered closed. He felt the telltale signs of his arousal growing.   
  
Lowering his head, he kissed her neck. He started off softly peppering up and down with gentle caresses. As he went, he could taste hints of salt from the water and feel her delicious warmth. Then he was devouring her, biting and sucking each part of her he could reach. In his lust filled daze, he wished he could strip them both down right here. Their garments could go floating out to sea for all he cared.   
  
Tugging the hair at the back of his head, she pulled him away from her neck and back to her mouth. Her tongue pushed into his mouth.   
  
Her hands worked in tandem. One with her nails brushing his scalp and the other trailing down to where he needed her most. Liquid fire ran down his abdomen in anticipation.   
  
He swept his thumb through some of her wetness and rubbed against her clit. Heavy breaths left her between their increasingly desperate kisses.   
  
With a hand inside his breeches, she cupped him. The searing skin to skin contact caused his hips to twitch. Gentle fingers slid along his length. All the air rushed out of him. She teased him with a light squeeze around his tip. He groaned and bit down on her lip.    
  
" _Even here you're fucking_!"  
  
The voice was like a bucket of icy water tossed upon their heads.   
  
Their hands stilled. He jerked up to look at the intruder.   
  
Close to the surf, stood Bronn with his eyes trained on them. He was smirking.    
  
Their hands were still in each other's pants. Brienne's other hand now gripped him by the shoulder. She was aching to finish this.   
  
That's when he remembered that the water was crystal clear. Suddenly crazed, he darted to put himself between Brienne and Bronn, unsure how much Bronn could see from his position.   
  
"This isn't a show!" Jaime shouted.   
  
Bronn's hands settled around his belt. He took a long look around, leisurely taking in all sights surrounding them. "Public place," he announced shrugging.   
  
Even if they ignored him, Jaime knew Bronn wouldn't go away. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand out of Brienne's breeches. She was still slick. He hated to leave her deprived.   
  
Brienne groaned. Her eyes screwed shut. "I hate him."  
  
_As do I_ , Jaime thought.   
  
Following his lead, her hand left him hard and needing.   
  
_I'll kill him._    
  
Closing his eyes, he tried to grasp a sense of control. A few deeps under the water and thoughts of sobering images helped a bit.   
  
It would be asking too much for Bronn to be gone when he came back up, but still he wished. And disappointment came when Bronn was still waiting in the sand.   
  
"Later," he whispered to Brienne, sealing his promise with a final kiss. Away from prying eyes they'd finish this. He would make it worth the wait.   
  
"Imagine my disappointment when the Lady and Lord of Tarth weren't at breakfast to receive me," Bronn said feigning offense.   
  
Begrudgingly, with hands joined he and Brienne strode out of the water. The tide rushed around their legs as if begging them to stay.   
  
"I wasn't aware you needed such attention, Lord Bronn. Our apologies." Jaime said, but meant none of it. The Lord of Highgarden, truly an abomination.   
  
Bronn lifted the training swords out of the sand and knocked the blades together, amusing himself. " _Ahh_ a bit of swordplay to get the juices flowing."   
  
Thoroughly unsatisfied, they stood, soggy, dripping and unimpressed.   
  
"What? I could close my eyes and turn around if you want to finish," Bronn suggested.   
  
Jaime itched to slap him across the mouth, but that would get them nowhere. It was bad taste to kill your guests.   
  
"Well then, let's get on with it." Bronn gestured for them to start walking.   
  
They walked along the shoreline blanketed in silence, excluding the almost constant chuckles and disingenuous 'sorrys' from Bronn.   
  
Patches of sand stuck to their wet boots as they continued. Brienne's thumb rubbed the back of his hand, attempting to calm him. It was his only solace.   
  
Jaime was determined not to give in to Bronn's antics.   
  
After a few minutes, Bronn inserted himself between them, breaking their hold on one another.   
  
"Where is Lollys?" Brienne asked, refusing to give Bronn a reaction.   
  
"She didn't want to find you two indecent," Bronn responded.   
  
It happened five days ago. He and Brienne were in the practice yard for some time. Then they ended up rushing into the storage shed, slamming the door and sharing heated kisses. He had just slipped inside her, rocking lazily to get moving. They were barely chasing any pleasure when a surprised yelp greeted them. "I was - I - my mistake - _so sorry_." It was Lollys. She hadn't looked in his direction since that day.   
  
Jaime rolled his eyes. "What do you want?" Bronn was like a leach on them. Nothing but a source of exhaustion and annoyance. He and Lollys were visiting only to show off their child, who they named Tyrion. Bronn clapped him on the shoulder after the reveal and said, "don't worry I'll name the next one after you."  
  
The babe and Lollys took up much of Brienne's time. He'd watched the way she was with the child. There was a gentleness in her movements. She'd almost seemed comfortable as she cradled the babe. After that he'd found himself wishing for things. Images of their future and his wants had started to form in his mind. Before he could linger on the idea, Bronn dragged him away. "Let the women coo over the babe. I need some expensive sapphire wine."  
  
With no more wars or true conflict Bronn had settled with regaling him stories of the 'most expensive golden whores'. Bronn was practically bouncing with excitement when he'd revealed that Lollys turned a blind eye to his antics. "You really should expand your horizons."   
  
A wave of heat had washed over him. "Brienne is my wife," he fumed at the suggestion. He never wanted anyone else. Never had an urge. The thought of ever venturing from her repulsed him.   
  
"Ah fuck, I forget sometimes who I'm talking to," Bronn dismissed.   
  
And finally when he had gotten to touch his wife Bronn had to be there inserting himself in the moment and killing the mood.   
  
Bronn's head whipped around, scanning the surrounding area. "I'm wondering is there any place left around this whole isle that's been untouched by you two?"  
  
"Probably not," Jaime said out of spite, refusing to indulge him.   
  
Bronn shook his head. "You're a pair of horny cunts."  
  
"Lions," Brienne said.   
  
"What?" Bronn asked.   
  
Even Jaime was unsure of what she was referring to.   
  
Brienne turned to Bronn, staring at him head on. "We prefer to be called horny lions not cunts," she stated without a hint of shame.   
  
It took Jaime by such surprise that he stopped walking.   
  
Bronn sped up, leaving them behind and mumbling under his breath.  
  
Brienne grabbed Jaime's hand, threading their fingers together once again. She gave him a brief, but sure squeeze. There was nothing but truth in her eyes.   
  
He knew that she meant it. That she was a lion as much as him now after their joined union. It was one thing to earn the Lannister name by marriage, but it was another to accept it and acknowledge it aloud to others. Not that Bronn was anyone to impress or that there was much left of the Lannisters. Still, it touched him deeply. And he was reminded once again of how much he loved her.   
  
"You don't have to be jealous," Jaime called after Bronn, spurred on by Brienne.   
  
_He couldn't wait to get her alone tonight._

**Author's Note:**

> See they're happy. It is all okay
> 
> Leave me a comment if you enjoyed :) thanks for reading!


End file.
